𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

Catalyst

I unlaced my boots, pulling on the strings I'd tied that morning and had managed to hold throughout the day. One by one I pulled them off, removing my socks and stuffing one in each shoe before placing them behind me. My feet, bare, hung over the docks edge, unable to reach the water. The air felt nice against my skin.

I hiked my many skirts up, dropping them above my knees. I felt the need to breathe, not just in passing, but as a priority. And so leaning back in my arms and pushing my shoulders back, feeling them open up as I did so, I did just that. Breathed, and nothing else.

The sun felt warm against my collarbone as the shawl I had worn to cover up fell to the floor. I wore no apron, my work was done for the day, and the rough fabric of my white dress cast shadows within its creases. I was comfortable at last. I could finally relax.

I looked up at the sky to find it as bright as ever, and surprisingly so. It felt late, but the sun told me otherwise. And suddenly, I felt wrong for being tired, as if that meant I was being lazy. I think Tewkesbury noticed my confusion because he interrupted my thoughts.

"Today's the solstice." He said, looking to his side, straight at me. "That's why it's still light out at—" he glanced down at the watch on his wrist, secured with a brown leather strap, "eight in the evening." I yawned at the mention of the time, discovering that my drowsiness was validated, and that I had in fact had a long day.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't at all hesitant to ask him what I did next. I almost didn't, feeling sort of embarrassed; but reminded myself that I had no reason to be. He'd said himself, I could ask him anything. But even still, I couldn't help my tone; unsure and wavering.

"A solstice?" I asked, all the while biting the inside of my cheek. It forced me to mumble, and my words came out coy and blurred together. I think that maybe it was intentional, an attempt to get him not to answer the question. So that I could preserve some crumb of my own dignity and continue to hide how little I really knew.

But it didn't matter, because he had heard me. "It's just the longest day of the year," He explained, looking back out onto the water, "In theory, it's got something to do with the sun, and the position of the planet and whatnot. He spoke so casually, voiced his knowledge so easily. The information seemed to ooze out of him as naturally as sweat or tears would.

I think he could tell that a part of me was embarrassed for not knowing because he went on to say that he wasn't really sure, and that he didn't know much else on the subject. And as much as I appreciated him wanting to make me feel better about myself, I couldn't help but feel guilty for making him feel like he had to do that; dumb himself down in order to preserve my confidence.

I didn't want him to have to walk on eggshells when he was with me, and he shouldn't have had to. At that point and long before, I had accepted the people we were, where we stood in the order of things. I could only hope that he had done the same, for both of our sakes.

But as he began to run off, stumbling over his own reassurances, I decided to cut him off. I wanted to change the subject, provide him with an escape from the hole he'd managed to dig himself by being a thoughtful person. So I asked him a question.

"What's that going to be?"

I nodded towards the trees that lined the edge of the lake, at the manor behind them. I could see its roof in the distance, sticking out from above the branches. It took him a second, but eventually he caught on to what I was talking about, directing his own gaze in the direction of the building.

From what I could see, there were various things happening up on the roof; a ladder leaning against the border; a large number of tiles stacked on top of each other, having been peeled back to leave the wood underneath exposed; and a rather sizable whole in the very centre of it all.